


The Thief and The Assassin

by kanethecryptid



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Assassination, Dark Brotherhood Questline, F/F, Flirting, Minor Violence, Thieves Guild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 15:34:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19397101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanethecryptid/pseuds/kanethecryptid
Summary: A thief and an assassin cross paths and unlikely events take place.





	The Thief and The Assassin

**Author's Note:**

> have another elder scrolls fanfic because that's all i know how to write

Whatever the Night Mother bids shall be done. For her word is law, and bound to Sithis, death incarnate. It is a sacred duty of each member of the Dark Brotherhood to carry out her will. As Listener, it was Rhea’s sole purpose to pass contracts onto her siblings, but that had been impossible due to their current circumstances. There were three members left, not including the initiates they would be receiving in the next week, and money from clients was needed to rebuild the Dark Brotherhood to its former glory. 

The contract she had been assigned by Nazir was rather simple. She was to yet again visit the House of Clan Shatter-Shield and murder Torbjorn Shatter-Shield, wiping their lineage out entirely. How tragic. A daughter dies and another assassin is sent to kill the next. Shortly afterward, the mother drinks poison and the father is left all alone. Whomever prayed the black sacrament was doing him a service. 

The night sky radiated a deep blue as Rhea entered the gates to Windhelm. The city’s scent reeked of oppression, mostly due to the residing Nords. She pitied the Dunmer that had no choice but to live in slums and be harassed on the streets. How dearly she wanted to slaughter each and every Nord man who so much as looked at an elf wrong.

Making sure she wasn't seen, Rhea cloaked herself in a shroud of invisibility as she approached the alleyway leading to House Shatter-Shield. 

* * *

  
Mercer Frey was dead. He had been a traitor to the Guild and died by her own hand. Yet, she could only feel guilt. She had taken the life of the man she once valued as a mentor, and thus felt sorrow for him, despite his attempt on her own life. 

Meriel had never been put in a place of leadership in her life. She was the youngest of eight children, and wandered on her own without companion before joining the Thieves Guild. Now that Mercer was gone, everyone predicted she would be his successor. It made sense: Brynjolf never wanted it and Karliah devoted herself to Nocturnal above all else. She had brought the guild success and had helped them in their darkest time. 

Despite her prestige as a thief, the Guild still needed their influence spread across the five main holds of Skyrim. Meriel was to travel to each of them, take the items dear to the citizens and carve an array of shadowmarks into their houses, taverns, and shops. 

Her current job was in Windhelm, where she was to take anything valuable from the late Shatter-Shield women, presumably locked into a chest for safe keeping. It was simple enough. She was to sneak in at dusk, take the items, and return to Delvin.

To get inside, Meriel chose the front entrance. Guards rarely passed by the corner of the street where Hjerim and the Shatter Shield home resided. She doubted anyone wanted to be in a five mile radius of so much death. Still, Meriel quickly picked the front lock and slipped inside. It would take more than a ruckus to wake the Shatter-Shield patriarch from his drunken stupor.

There was an eerie silence radiating from the walls as Meriel crept through the first floor. The widower must have been unconscious. She made her way up the steps to the master bedroom, making sure to distribute her weight evenly on each step, as to not cause any noise. Meriel peeked her head out from the last step and confirmed her suspicions. 

There weren’t any obvious chests or safes in plain sight, but she knew most citizens with wealth had their valuables behind a secretive back panel. Meriel, as quietly as possible, pushed and pulled on various drawers and cabinets, but found nothing. She checked under the bed and found three pints of ale scattered over a discolored floorboard. Meriel wondered if the hiding spot was to distract himself from his mourning, or to hide it from thieves such as herself. Meriel dug her nails into the piece of wood and pried it out. Underneath it lay a single strongbox, attached to it, a master lock. Meriel retrieved a lockpick from her breast pocket and opened it with ease. Inside were three lockets adorned with various gemstones. Because of their rare designs and craftsmanship, she estimated their worth to be around twenty-thousand septims. With a smirk, Meriel shoved the lockets into her boot and carved a circle inside of a square onto the floorboard, to let the man know exactly who he was dealing with.

The Dunmer pushed herself up onto her feet and made sure the man was still unconscious. Just as she was about to turn, Meriel felt the sharp blade of a dagger swing an inch away from her throat.

“Drop the dagger.” The voice behind her was low but piercing. Meriel assumed the perpetrator was a woman judging by the tone of her voice. It was unrecognizable to her; she couldn’t have been a resident of Windhelm.

Meriel was frightened, but displayed no signs of it. Heeding the woman’s command, she took hold of the knife on her belt and threw it to the ground.

“So you’re with the Guild. Pity, I hoped for more bloodshed.” Meriel didn’t even blink before the dagger at her throat disappeared, sheathed by its owner. 

The Dunmer turned and looked up. Wow, she was tall. The woman, whom she now read as an assassin from the Dark Brotherhood, had long strands of silver hair, the front of which were braided to the side. Her pale face had been slashed with crimson warpaint, and her eyes led Meriel to believe she was infected with Sanguinare Vampiris. 

“I hope the actual reason for you not slitting my throat is because of my good looks.” The edges of Meriel’s lips tugged into a smirk as she bent down and retrieved her weapon. 

“Meriel Senthri. Age nineteen. The youngest Guild Master in centuries. It's a surprise that your fellow members would appoint a child as their leader in such a short time.” The woman’s tone was depleted of emotion as she moved past Meriel and silently shoved her dagger into Torbjorn’s heart.

“How do you know that? You haven't even provided me your name.” 

The woman chuckled. “Let’s just say your friend Delvin has ties to my organization.”

Meriel looked at her incredulously. “So you're Astrid, then?”

She chuckled again. “You have no idea, do you? Our sanctuary burnt down, and Astrid with it.”

“I didn't know. My apologies.” Silence lingered in the air between them. 

“I still didn't get a name to match that pretty face.” Meriel broke the tension with a crooked smile directed towards the towering woman.

“The Guild Master charming an assassin from the Dark Brotherhood? Interesting.” The woman’s expression was unreadable, and Meriel was confused as to whether her response indulged the Dunmer’s flirtations. “If you must know, my name is Rhea, and I am the Listener. It seems the two of us are in similar positions.”

“I see why they put you in charge, then. You seem very… capable.” 

“I could say the same for yourself.” Rhea’s lips finally formed what could be considered a smile. Meriel paused as her brain struggled to form a coherent sentence.

“I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other in the near future, Guild Master.” Rhea said as she sheathed her dagger and exited down the stairs and out of the scene of the crime. 

Meriel soon followed, swiftly opening then closing front entrance. What was left on the wall beside the door surprised Meriel more than any hostile guard would. Before her was a note pinned to the wall with a dagger that read:

_Dead Man’s Drink, next Fridas._


End file.
